Phil Bowhay: Love letters, Geographics and other treasures to downsize At sunset less is more, so downsize

Stick around long enough, friends, and you will possibly — no, probably — either need to or want to downsize. This comes with serious maturity, along with several other inconveniences. The kids are long gone, that extra bedroom is seldom used and there is so much stuff around that you can't find what you need when you need it. On and on, and there's that nagging mop hanging in the laundry room. And good grief! The water bill! Well, time to sell the old place. No, the kids have their own homes (and in a few years they'll downsize, too.) So on to downsizing.

I happen to be an expert on the subject, having claimed for the past several years that I'm in the distribution phase of life , but nevertheless, I have accumulated considerably. It turns out that lots of stuff and treasures, and sometimes hard to know the difference, is in every drawer and closet.

Getting rid of books is almost like killing your children. You know what I mean, but I reassure that when you bite the bullet and toss that stack of New Yorkers you will almost feel liberated. I know. You got rid of the Geographics years ago. Thought some school would like them. Think again! And they're all on discs now, anyway.

That box of Christmas cards? And, by golly, letters you wrote home your first year of college! Took my collection of Time-Life books to Yellow Brick Road yesterday and have been at least slightly depressed since. I remember the thrills years ago, when they arrived in the mail, one by one. Of course, I didn't read them all, but they were there, just in case.

When I was 9 I fell out of a rope swing and shattered an elbow — another story — and was in Mercy Hospital for few days, then home. Each kid in the class wrote me a get-well letter ... somewhat primitive, but thoughtful . .. and tough to dump those in the recycle bin.

And that little piece of redwood burl, found on the beach. A sentimental treasure! And love letters! Authors now long gone.

All this nice furniture! Some to sweeties' and some to the kids. And the next generation — "Look, Grandpa! Got this nice whatever from IKEA!"

Now, I'm lucky, since my downsizing (sold my house, by the way) means moving some treasures into sweetie's house ... her house, our home ... but still. There is a feeling of relief, after a gulp and a tear, when the Salvation Army truck drives away.

I know, Dr. Alasko, this is a new phase of life, and think of all the memories! Good Lord!

Believe it or not, I know some people who downsize by moving into two smaller places, splitting time between each. Just think of that!

"Sally! Where in hell is my green sweater?"

Now, as difficult as downsizing may seem, there is supposed to be a feeling of freedom when you walk out the door for the last time. I'll let you know. The new folks have at least indicated they'll take good care of the place, and have even expressed interest in some of my stuff. I mean treasures! For sure, they recognize values, sentimental or otherwise. Can you imagine! Those two framed portraits of my great-great-greats! Well, they served their purpose — scared the kids!

Another downsizing I've noticed is the old bank account. Yeah, I know. We don't need as much as we used to. And you can't take it with you! An old client told me, "If I can't take it with me, I'm not going!"

Yeah, I know. The way God works, your money, brains and body are supposed to burn out at the same time. Usually. And there's that old truth, "There are no pockets in a shroud." Fortunately, I feel great!

Well, whistling in the dark, trying not to be too concerned. This downsizing is tough, but my sunset is somebody's dawn. That's just the way it is. Maybe sing a happy song!

(Everybody's a critic! Asked sweetie what she thinks of the story, says it's "Very OK!" )